Drinks on the House
by yutamiyu
Summary: House and Cameron on New Year's and beyond. Story COMPLETE in four chapters
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic was written before S1 finished airing. As such, this is AU for S2. Keep that in mind.

------------------

As House slouched over his forearms resting on the table, he wondered exactly how he'd been roped into this.

The evening had been spent--at least on his part--in silence, opting instead to eat greasy bar food and nurse a scotch on the rocks—or three. He wasn't completely withdrawn—he'd snark if spoken to—but the majority of his time had been spent watching his coworkers laugh and drink and converse around him.

Wilson and Foreman were currently facing each other, animatedly discussing…something. Given Foreman's enthusiastic hand movements and Wilson's livened, smiling responses, he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with medicine. Sports, maybe, or perhaps the latest fast-cars-fast-women-huge-explosion movie.

On his other side, Chase and Cameron were sitting knee to knee, heads bowed close together, holding a quiet, private conversation. Chase was grinning, and from what he could see of Cameron (admittedly not much beyond her back, given the way she'd turned in her chair) he was willing to bet that she had on some sort of bright smile designed solely to please her male companion—namely Chase.

He absolutely despised New Year's.

He knocked back the rest of his scotch in one go, placing it back down on the table with a healthy "clack." His mind wandered briefly before he felt a gentle touch on his forearm, and his gaze was met by exactly that, sending him into a brief, awkward moment wherein he wasn't entirely sure he was out of his thoughts--or, conversely, out of his mind.

"Any plans for tonight?" Cameron asked, her voice low and soothing.

"I thought I'd try my hand at internet porn," he responded dryly. "I hear there's good money in it…do you think Cuddy would agree to model?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "I think you'd have an easier time convincing Vogler to do it," she responded.

Even though the man had been gone for months, the thought of such a hulking giant still sent him down the road of one-extra-Vicodin. He put on an exaggerated grimace and reached for his empty drink, tilting an ice cube into his mouth—and instantly regretting it. _Trying to suck scotch out of an ice cube? Greg, my boy…I'm disappointed._

She lifted her chin at his glass and asked, "How are you holding up?"

He crunched the ice between his teeth and let the melting pieces slide down his throat. "If you're inquiring about my shattered childhood dreams, about that mid-life period wherein I ask myself why the hell I'm a cane-bearing, despised doctor who lives alone rather than a famous, good looking, rich and popular astronaut surrounded by gorgeous supermodels, then my answer is that I'm holding up pretty well, all things considered. If you're asking me if I'm drunk, then no. I'm not."

Cameron shook her head in exasperation, chuckling softly at his sarcasm. "Good," she said. "Because I've got twenty bucks with your name on it if you give me a ride home."

He glared at her. "You must be joking."

"I'm not. I had to take my car into the shop a few days ago, and they still haven't finished the work. I've been getting rides with Chase and Foreman--"

"So go with one of them."

"--who plan on staying at this bar well into the New Year," she continued smoothly, unaffected by his interruption. "I don't particularly want to ring in the New Year here, and I'm pretty sure that you don't want to be here at all. Forget the twenty…I'll pay your tab. I think my place is in between here and yours, anyway."

He was losing, quickly, and he knew it. "Take a cab."

"A cab, in Jersey, on New Year's?" she asked, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. "I could walk home in the time it took to wait for the cab to show up."

"So walk."

Her eyes dimmed and her brow furrowed. "You don't mean that." Her tone was tentative.

"No. I don't mean that." He scrubbed a hand over his stubble and took a deep breath, expelling it as a resigned sigh. "Fine. Go pay my tab. And hurry up."

Her smile was bright and he hated her for it; he didn't like losing the upper hand in anything. He crunched another bit of ice between his teeth as she wandered off to pay for the drinks.

This was a bad idea. A Very Bad Idea. Love was love and lust was lust and the two had always been mutually exclusive in his mind…until recently. He had admitted long ago that Allison Cameron was attractive--it really wasn't that difficult to notice--and thus allowed himself to fantasize from time to time, but emotions were always conspicuous in their absence. He didn't know when things had started changing, but his thoughts regarding her were no longer easily sorted into the categories of "work" and "sex." He found himself feeling…something. Given this inner upset, would he really be able to handle a drive with her, alone, in cramped and intimate quarters?

Cameron took that moment to come back to the table and nod at him. "Whenever you're ready," she said, plucking her coat from the back of her chair and leisurely sliding into it, saying her polite goodbyes and passing on well-wishes. In the same time, he quickly shrugged into his coat and made his way to the exit, knowing she would quickly follow, and fairly certain that no one would notice that he'd left.

------------------

Cameron ran the back of her hand over the hood of the Corvette, taking quiet delight in the way the cold hard metal played with her flushed skin. If pressed, she would blame the alcohol she'd had at the bar; in reality, it was the quite simply the scene presented before her. She had always secretly found fast cars to be inherently sexy, and when combined with one Greg House--she shivered, and it had nothing to do with the late night December cold.

House pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked his door, easing himself into the seat, setting his cane on the floor before leaning over and unlocking the passenger side door. He waited, hand clenching into fists as they rested on his thighs, as Cameron climbed into the car, closing the door next to her.

"Lucky the streets are clear," she tried, feeling horribly awkward. "I can't imagine that this car would handle very well in snow."

He bristled at the threat to his baby. "Are you kidding?" he asked with an exasperated tone. "This beauty corners like it's on rails."

Cameron's eyes furrowed in slight confusion at the "Pretty Woman" reference--what was it with House and hookers?--but said nothing. Rather, she rebutted with, "Sports cars generally don't do well when the streets are covered in snow. They're built primarily for speed."

The keys halted midway to the ignition as House fixed her with an only-slightly-annoyed glare. "You know, you could still _walk_ home," he said pointedly.

Cameron's face flickered briefly between nervousness and humor as she replied, "I already paid your tab. Besides, you made a deal. You wouldn't really go back on your word, would you?"

House slipped the key into the ignition and started the car, checking his rearview mirror and putting the Corvette into reverse, backing out of his parking space. "I might consider it if I feel that my choice of vehicle is being mocked."

"It's not."

He switched into drive. "That remains to be seen. You shouldn't have said anything; I now feel the need to defend my car's honor." He took a sharp turn into the street; at her surprised gasp, he added, "You might want to put your seatbelt on. State law and all of that."

------------------

Cameron shifted nervously in the seat, her eyes darting between the front door of her apartment complex and the Corvette's dashboard, unsure if she should voice her thoughts or simply thank him and leave. Liquid courage--at least that's what she attested her decision to--finally chose for her.

"Would you come upstairs for a minute?"

House raised an eyebrow and let his eyes wander over her face. "Why? Want to show me your etchings?" Stupid line. He covered it by giving a pointed look at his cane and adding, "Your place isn't exactly the most accessible." It was a half-flight of stairs, but it was the principle of the thing.

She shifted again. "I'm sorry—it's just that I have…well, a belated Christmas present for you," she admitted. "It's in my apartment."

"Unless you've hidden a stripper up there, then there's no reason you can't give me your present on Monday," he replied. When she didn't respond, he added, "It _is_ a stripper, isn't it? You spoil me."

"No," she responded quickly, a touch embarrassed. "It's not a…it's not. It's just something I thought you'd like to start the New Year with--"

"--A bang?"

She ignored that one. "--And I guess I thought that if you came up, neither of us would have to ring in the New Year alone." Her voice became quiet by the end.

He was tempted. Sorely. Which was precisely why he threw up another defense mechanism. "It sounds like you're trying to barter with me," he stated simply. "If this present is my reward for spending the remainder of this year with you, then what's my reward for lugging myself up your stairs and into your apartment? You've already paid my tab, and I don't deal in cash."

He had expected her to become exasperated and leave. A small part of him expected her to get angry, to yell. He was not expecting her to make an offer.

"I'll cover one day of your clinic duty," she offered.

"But I _love_ the clin--"

"Fine," she interrupted. "Three days."

Game, set, and match. House mumbled as he pulled the car into a legitimate parking space and cut the engine, following Cameron to the front door of her apartment complex.


	2. Chapter 2

Cameron shrugged off her coat and hung it on the slender rack next to the door, gesturing for House to do the same. As he rested his cane against the wall and removed his coat, she asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

"Scotch, if you have it," he replied, recovering his cane.

She seemed somewhat surprised that he wanted another drink--perhaps a tacit admittance that he was going to stay for the remainder of the year?--but recovered quickly, answering, "I don't. I think I have some Jack Daniels, though." She walked into the kitchen.

House, preempting an invitation, limped over towards the armchair. "What kind of person doesn't have scotch?" he mumbled, then sat, leaning his cane against the chair's arm. "On the rocks," he added, louder, unsure if she'd heard him.

As House listened to her clink around in the kitchen, his fingers tapped a nervous staccato on his thighs. Once again, there was an undeniable voice in his head insisting that this was a Bad Idea. Like sticking a fork into an electrical outlet.

House bit back a groan. Bad imagery, given his present company. Too many implications.

His thoughts were spared--somewhat--by Cameron's re-entry into the room, two ice-laden glasses, a can of Coke, a half-bottle of Jack Daniels and a--shot glass? Interesting--precariously balanced on a small tray, which she set before him.

"I didn't know how you drank it," she admitted, "so I covered all the bases."

As he poured himself a glass, thankful for something to do, he said, "I didn't realize that you of all people would be in the habit of lying to me."

Cameron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I came up here because you promised me a stripper," he replied, wincing as the first sip of whiskey burned down his throat.

Cameron chuckled. "Oh, right. Your present." She rose and crossed into what he assumed was her bedroom, returning quickly, clearly nervous and unsure as she clutched a flat box wrapped in dark green with no ribbon.

House raised an eyebrow at her as he lowered his drink from his mouth. "Interesting. Hide that in your lingerie drawer?" he quipped, and waggled his fingers at her. "Gimme."

She responded with a particularly unladylike snort and relaxed. "You'll never know," she threw back at him, trading the present for his drink. "I'm sorry about the delay…they didn't get here in time for Christmas," she added.

House shook the present. "So…no stripper?" he asked, his voice disheartened. Completely disregarding social etiquette, House tore into his present with all the excitement and enthusiasm of an eight-year-old on…well, Christmas. His eyes widened as he soon found himself to be the proud new owner of--

--a blank manila envelope.

Extracting it from the box and tossing the leftovers on the table, he glared at Cameron, who was too preoccupied with watching the envelope he held in his hands. "There had better be a large sum of cash in here," he murmured dangerously, before sliding his finger under the top, ripping the envelope open and tipping the contents into his free hand.

They were better than cash.

They were two all-access passes to March's Monster Truck Madness extravaganza.

House's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead as his eyes sought out Cameron's. "How the hell did you get these?" he demanded in awe, shaking the passes.

Cameron looked relieved as she replaced the empty envelope with his drink. "I called in a few favors," she admitted, idly picking at the torn edge of the envelope.

"Must have been one hell of a favor," he breathed. He closed his eyes and took a healthy sip of his drink before looking at the tickets again, as though they had been an illusion. Delusion. Mirage. Impossibility.

Cameron shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really," she answered, sitting in the chair across from him, the table an island of clutter between them. She mixed Coke into her own whiskey and took a sip.

"There's two," he said, running a finger along the jagged edge of the laminate. "Why did you get two?"

"Last time, I only went because Wilson cancelled," she answered. "I wanted to make sure that this time, you could take him."

House nodded, placing the tickets on the table in front of him, making sure they were still in his direct line of sight. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled," he replied. "In the meantime, I just have to make sure that he doesn't meet anyone that he wants to wine and dine."

Cameron chuckled and took a drink of her own. "You might want to ask him soon, then," she noted. "I've heard rumors going around the hospital about him lately."

House sipped from his drink. "There's always rumors about Wilson at that hospital. That's half the fun," he replied, and Cameron thought she could see a teasing twinkle in his eyes. She took the bait.

"Half the fun?" she asked. "What's the other half?"

House refreshed his glass as he replied, "The fact that I start a lot of the rumors myself."

Cameron laughed into her glass. "And does he know this?"

House shrugged and waved the bottle of Jack Daniels at her. She shook her head. "I've never told him," he replied. "But Jimmy has a way of making my rumors come true."

Cameron's took another drink, swallowed, and furrowed her brow. "You mean he really--"

"I will reveal nothing," he interrupted. Then, "At least, not without proper compensation."

"I'm already working three days' worth of your clinic hours," she replied, putting her glass down on the table. "I don't have time to do more."

House frowned as he contemplated her barely-touched whiskey. Finally, the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk, and he looked back up at her.

"Take a shot of whiskey."

Cameron was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

If she had any sort of protest in her, she was much too late; House was already shifting forward in his seat, pulling the bottle of Jack Daniels back towards him. After pouring a healthy amount of whiskey into the shot glass, he held it away from his body, looking at her expectantly.

"Come on. One shot. I want to see if sweet, innocent little Allison Cameron knows how to properly drink her liquor. None of this mixing shit."

"House--"

"It's not going to hurt you," he pressed, carefully leaning back in the arm chair, arm still proffering the drink, giving it the slightest shake. Cameron watched as the liquid sloshed in the mostly-full glass. "Come on. All the big girls are doing it."

The smirk on his lips was her undoing. She pushed herself out of her chair and crossed to him, plucking the shot glass from his hand.

"I suppose the pressing question," she began, "is whether I should lick the back of my hand or the side of your neck."

House nearly choked on his whiskey. The passing of five seconds allowed him to compose himself. "That's tequila, Cameron," he replied smoothly, leaning forward to place his glass back on the table. "You use salt before tequila."

Cameron raised a slim eyebrow as her lips quirked into a tiny grin. "I know that. You're too quick to jump to assumptions." With those words, she raised the shot glass in a tiny salute and tipped the entire glass' worth into her mouth. The whiskey burned down her throat and settled heavily in her stomach. She could feel the remnants surrounding her tongue and the inside of her cheeks. Quickly, she spun around and grabbed the can of Coke, taking two large gulps in attempt to counteract the pure alcohol.

House's smirk re-emerged. "Poor little Allison Cameron needed a chaser." He had the upper hand back. He could pretend the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. If she'd let him.

"I'm not used to it," she replied lamely. She took a moment, put the Coke down, and added, "You could have distracted me."

"I think the sight of you not being able to handle your liquor is distraction enough," he replied. "What could I have done?"

"You could have kissed me."

And that was it. She wasn't letting him get away with his regained upper hand. Her statement had thrown him off-kilter, something he only allowed alcohol and painkillers to do. It took him a moment, but he finally found his voice once again, grasping for normalcy.

"Could I have?" His tone was somehow both demeaning and inquisitive.

Cameron shrugged a shoulder, unsure why she was pursuing this line of conversation. No, she knew why; she just wasn't sure why she'd picked this particular moment. Especially when she still didn't have all her thoughts completely sorted out.

"There were a lot of things tonight that you could've blamed it on. New Year's tradition. You were excited over those tickets. You'd been drinking. Am I missing any?"

House grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet. "Nope. I think you covered them all," he replied pithily, and moved to grab his coat from the rack near the door.

Cameron's uncertain hand on his shoulder stopped him from walking out the door.

"I was just kidding around," she said quietly, and her eyes--while glazed somewhat by the quick shot of whiskey--were apologetic.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock began chiming softly. House's eyes fixed on the armchair he'd recently occupied, and he took a deep breath, letting it out quickly while squaring his shoulders. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against hers, using her tiny gasp of surprise as an opportunity to briefly trace the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.

Drawing back, he stared at her flushed face. "Pity," he murmured, and limped out of the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Midnight had come and gone, and so had he.

For a small eternity after House had walked through her door, Cameron stood, feet planted, staring at the space he'd last occupied. Then, suddenly, something within her seemed to reconnect, and she shuffled into the kitchen, quickly filling and drinking a glass of water.

Her cognitive abilities seemed to come back to her as she filled a second glass. He'd kissed her; that much was obvious. But why? Her mind ticked off the excuses she'd given him. He hadn't been drunk; she didn't think he was stupid enough to drive while intoxicated. If not in regard for his own life, then for the safety of his Corvette. He knew what he was doing. And even more, he knew she was in her right mind, as well.

He'd wanted her to remember. But why?

Her eyes ran over the sitting area and her body clenched as her gaze fell upon her present to him. He'd left the tickets. She hurried over to scoop them off the table, and at that instant any rationale she had abandoned her. For some inexplicable reason, it seemed the most important thing in the world for House to have the tickets at this precise moment in time.

She glanced quickly at the clock as it switched over to seven after. He'd left seven minutes ago. It was possible--slim, but possible--that he was still in the parking lot. Maybe the stairs had given him trouble; they certainly would have slowed him down. Maybe the Corvette's engine wasn't turning over as quickly as it should. Anything was possible, if admittedly not probable. But she still had to hope.

Cameron flew out of her apartment and took two stairs at a time, tickets clasped in one tiny, desperate fist. Pushing the main door open, her eyes frantically searched the parking lot.

There. Where he'd parked it earlier. The Corvette. And when she squinted in the darkness and the street lights, she saw a vague figure in the driver's seat. House. He hadn't left.

Reining in her foolish, relieved grin, Cameron jogged lightly over to the car and knocked quietly on the driver's side window.

------------------

House pushed his head back into the headrest and groaned. Anxious fingers tapped an uneven pattern on the steering wheel as his eyes slipped closed.

He'd actually kissed her. He'd kissed Allison Cameron, and he hadn't had an excuse to hide behind.

Despite the alcohol he'd had over the course of the night, he was far from drunk; his tolerance made sure of that. Yes, he had been excited about the tickets, but he would never show it. And the fact that it had been midnight was almost inconsequential.

He scrubbed a hand over his stubble, his mouth. What bothered him was not the kiss, but the fact that he wasn't entirely sure it was a lapse in logic or sanity.

The knock on the window jolted him out of his reverie, and he opened his eyes to meet the darkened figure of Cameron. Biting back a groan – he wasn't sure if he could leave twice in one night – he rolled down the window enough so her voice could filter through.

"Miss me already?" he asked, almost snidely.

Cameron held up the manila envelope. "You left this," she replied simply, slipping it halfway through the window, allowing it to dangle tantalizingly before him.

"Restraining order?"

Her lips quirked into an exasperated grin. "No need for one," she replied. "You forgot your tickets."

He tugged the rest of the envelope through the window and tossed it onto the passenger's seat. Taking a moment to ensure that his defenses weren't entirely defunct, he rolled down the rest of the window.

"And you saw fit to return them in a completely unnecessary envelope," he noted. "Typical Allison Cameron."

She shrugged and leaned closer to him, resting her forearms on the lip of the rolled-down window. "I figure, why break the habit of a lifetime?"

Later – much later, when his breathing had calmed and her still-flushed skin warmed him against the January chill – he would attempt to figure out exactly how everything else happened. Later, his mind would run through every excuse she had provided him, and he would wonder why he was so adamantly against using any of them. He would try to discern these things and come up empty.

Later, he would ponder the words, the emotions, the desires for this woman bouncing around in his head, and come up with this familiar, ever-present ache – but he would find that the ache hadn't felt this sweet and warm in many years.

But right then, in that moment, his eyes were fixated on her breasts.

------------------

In retrospect, Cameron was glad that she did not perceive the cold surrounding her, or she may not have stayed at House's car for three extra minutes. She was thankful that in her rush to catch him, she had forgotten to grab her jacket from the coat rack by the door. And in retrospect, she almost had to laugh; in the end, she had won him by pandering to his primal instincts rather than to his ego and intellect. In the end, he had stopped resisting and started welcoming not because of collected logic, but because of tightened, erect nipples and a raised eyebrow.

In that moment, when the weight of her body came to rest on her forearms, she could feel his eyes on her. Even in the dark, in the buzzing light of a dimming streetlamp by her parking lot, she could see him staring, could see him work his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"Do you like what you see?" she teased softly.

His gaze snapped up to hers, and he somehow took note of her dilating pupils. He idly wondered as to the state of his.

Even more quietly, she added, "There's more. You have no idea."

He was not aware of his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. What he was aware of was the feeling of his mouth opening, again, and whatever reply he had – sarcastic, spiteful, or otherwise – dying in his throat. He felt his eyes narrow minutely, and he cleared his throat and parted his lips to try again.

The breeze picked up and she shivered, and the moment was lost. She rose and pushed away from the car, her hands clenching into small fists at her sides before rising to cross her chest, her right thumb idly tracing a path over her shirt sleeve. For all her candor moments before, she was suddenly feeling quite nervous.

"I'm…" she tried, her eyes darting around the parking lot before she forced them back onto House. "I'm going back inside to warm up. It's…getting colder." A pause, then, "You might want to rethink your decision to brave the roads tonight. Lots of crazies out there." She dropped her gaze as she added, "You can…stay. If you want." And as soon as those words were out, she turned and tried not to run as she made her way back to her apartment.

------------------

Cameron paced in her kitchen, her teeth distractedly biting at a thumbnail, as her mind screamed a litany of congratulations and horrified treatises at the fact that she'd just given House – her boss, the emotionally unavailable man to whom she was attracted – a carte blanche to sleep with her.

She'd also done what she absolutely hated, and left the invitation on uncertain terms. She'd left him sitting in his car in the parking lot, unsure of whether or not he would even follow. She needed to know, one way or the other, but adamantly refused to stoop to the level of peering out the window to see if he was even still there.

She was therefore startled by the knock at the door. She hurried over and opened it, and her eyes immediately sought out those of the man before her. Of House. She had offered, and he had followed.

He said nothing as he walked into her apartment, instead settling to watch her as she locked the door and turned to face him again. Dropping his gaze, he tapped his cane against the ground a few times before meeting her eyes once again and saying, "So, the walk up your steps earlier tonight took a lot out of me, and in combination with alcohol, does not a safe driver make. Looks like you're stuck with me for the night."

Cameron bit the inside of her cheek to keep her grin from surfacing. She didn't want to scare him away, now that he was finally here.

"Well, that might be a problem, seeing as I don't have a guest room, and I think you're too big for my couch," she replied simply.

House murmured noncommittally, his eyes traveling from her eyes to her lips to the top of her blouse, where he could once again see the slight swell of her breasts. His eyes narrowed as he reached out a somewhat-uncertain hand to cup the weight of one, running a thumb lightly across the nipple.

"I believe you've lied to me, Dr. Cameron," he stated, his grasp becoming more firm. "These are obviously not in the same condition they were outside."

Cameron gasped as his thumb retraced its path, pressing down a bit harder, lingering a bit longer. She managed to reply, "Maybe you should do something about that."

He dragged his eyes back up her body to meet hers. "Maybe I should," he said in agreement, before leaning down to capture her lips with his.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is the final chapter of the rated version. For those who are interested, the "real" chapter four (the chapter where all the smut happens) can be found on my livejournal under the label "Drinks on the House (4/5)," dated 4.17.06.

Cameron threw an arm over her eyes in a vain attempt to keep the sunlight out. Even without opening her eyes, she knew that she was alone in bed. Running her free hand across the mattress, she discerned that he had been gone for quite some time; the space beside her was cold. She couldn't smell pancakes and coffee wafting in from the kitchen, and the shower was not running.

He had left.

Rolling her head to the side and dropping her arm, she cracked an eye to peer at the clock on her bedside table. Almost nine. She was grateful that she had the day off; she wasn't certain that she was entirely up to facing her coworkers--or her boss--after her behavior last night.

She rolled out of bed, pulling the blanket around her body. Pulling jeans and a sweater out of her closet, she quickly dressed and began to make the bed. She refused to consider the fact that she didn't want to wash the sheets just yet--didn't want to admit that she wanted to keep his scent around a little longer. Wanted to be able to remember.

It wasn't until she padded into the kitchen that she realized that she ached. Long unused muscles had been overtaxed the night before, and the feeling was bittersweet. She filled a glass of water and stared at her living room as she drank. The glasses and bottle from the night before were still out--and her eyes fell on the shot glass. Her lips tugged into a miniscule frown.

Pouring the rest of her water down the sink, she walked into the bathroom to get ready for her day. Maybe she'd call Foreman for brunch; she wanted to see a friendly face, and possibly tease him about his inevitable hangover.

She was midway through brushing her teeth when she finally looked at her mirror. What she saw there nearly made her choke on her toothpaste, and as she read, her toothbrush dangled limply between her teeth.

Written in red lipstick--her favorite shade, she would later realize, and the message had ruined the entire tube--across the span of her mirror were the words "MY PLACE. 7:00. BRING FOOD."

Despite herself, Cameron laughed, sending the toothbrush spiraling into the sink.

------------------

It wasn't that he was frightened, or angry, or regretful. He didn't leave the bed for any of these reasons. He left the bed because he desperately needed to use the bathroom.

It was when he was actually in the bathroom that he realized he needed space. Temporarily, of course, but he needed time to process. This developing, breathing i thing /i they'd started. He didn't know what to call it, but he knew he wanted to keep it. Keep her.

For the first time that he could remember, Greg House used a tube of lipstick. He smirked as he imagined Cameron's reaction.

His goal for the rest of the day was to think about anything but her, or at least anything but their time together. In this arena, he failed miserably – a first for him, or at least something he'd not encountered for quite a while.

He failed, not because he couldn't stop thinking. He failed because he couldn't stop feeling.

The wisp of her hair brushing across his shoulders as she leaned down to capture his lips with hers.

The warm rasp of her tongue as she traveled across his stubbled jaw, dropping kisses and blazing a trail of fire in her explorations.

The feel of her smooth skin, flushed and panting, under his rough hands.

The sensation of her sleeping body warming his. An errant strand of hair tickling at his nose, her fingers tracing minute unconscious trails over one particular patch of skin. Her expelled breath, warm and even, dancing across his chest.

The pulling on his chest, or inside, from looking at this sleeping woman.

The sound of her voice caressing him, stimulating him. _"I suppose the pressing question is whether I should lick the back of my hand or the side of your neck."_

At a quarter after four, House grabbed his keys from the counter to head to the grocery store. He needed supplies.

------------------

At precisely 6:58, Cameron stood in front of House's door, hand poised to knock, clutching a bag of take-out Chinese. A nervous hand tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and she reached out and knocked on the door.

He answered immediately, decked in a pair of faded jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Her skin flushed as she felt his eyes run over her body.

"You're early," he pointed out, his voice criticizing.

"Surprising," she replied, "seeing as it took me nearly an hour to clean my mirror."

He lifted a chin towards the bag hanging from her left hand. "I see you got my message, then."

She chuckled. "I'm here, aren't I?"

His eyes caught hers and they did not falter. "You are."

They stood at his door, silent, neither moving, the smell of Chinese food filling the hallway. Finally, Cameron lifted the bag between them, breaking the contact.

"It's going to get cold," she mumbled.

He stepped back and ushered her into his apartment, locking the door behind her. Walking into his living room, she paused at the sight of the small bottle on the table. Placing the Chinese to the side, she picked it up and read the label.

Jose Cuervo.

"I didn't know you liked tequila," she stated simply.

His hands snaked around her body, one resting on her hip, the other across her stomach. "I don't, really," he responded, "but after your screw up last night, I thought that I should teach you how to drink your liquor. It seems that you have been undereducated."

She spun in his arms and looped hers around his neck. "Are you a good teacher, Dr. House?" she intoned softly.

"You have no idea," he replied, pulling her flush against his body and claiming her lips in the first of many times that evening.


End file.
